


How a Prince Learned to Cherish True Love

by musicmillennia



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Crack Treated Seriously, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Style, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Magic, Pirates, Rapunzel Elements, Sorceresses, archers, ish, oh my!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Athos! Athos! Let down your hair!"</p><p>"His what?" asked Porthos and Aramis.</p><p>"My what?" thundered Prince Athos.</p><p>(Of disgruntled princes, giant pirates, handsome archers, stubborn farmboys, and of course: True Love Conquers All...Heights.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How a Prince Learned to Cherish True Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobinLorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLorin/gifts).



> So, I apologize; I know it's really weird that I write so many stories gifted to RobinLorin. She just writes excellent tags, and her athagnan stuff is no exception. This one actually stems from a sort of meta post she wrote about athagnan. I saw "D'Artagnan" and "moats" in one of the tags and suddenly my brain is like GET THEE TO WORD, YOU FAIRY TALE GARBAGE!
> 
> Did I mention this is crack?

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a young prince and a lovely maiden. Although she was not  _exactly_ a maiden, she and this prince fell in love with his being under the assumption that she was. Theirs was a pure, True Love, one born of innocence and the joy of youth.

Then, tragedy struck this beautiful couple: the prince—who was called Olivier—was pulled aside by his brother Thomas and shown his wife's past. She was a criminal from the gutters, a petty pick-pocket who lied and cheated her way into the prince's life.

Heartbroken, Prince Olivier obeyed his father the King's laws, condemning the woman he loved to the rope. As she dangled lifelessly from the nearest tree, he wept, and he said, "True Love does not exist."

Just as these words left his mouth, behold! A sorceress appeared in a flash of light! Her lovely brown curls had a touch of fiery red; her eyes were fearsome as they were kind; as soon as everyone beheld her face, they all recognized her instantly as the enchantress who rescued the Queen of their allied kingdom from an eyeless ghoul disguised as a man, after which Her Majesty took her as a wife.

Despite being known for her gentle nature, fear struck the hearts of those who beheld her, for seeing through a ghoul's disguise took enormous power, and she did not look happy with Prince Olivier.

Pointing an accusing finger at him, she shouted (echoes included), " _You_! Prince Olivier! You no longer believe in True Love? You, who had it in your grasp but did not cherish it? A lesson for you, then! I banish you to the tallest Tower in the land; may you never feel happiness until you learn what it is to have True Love!"

And so it was done: Prince Olivier woke in a Tower of stone so tall he could hardly see the ground through the clouds. Around this Tower, there was a cavernous Moat, ten leagues wide and twenty leagues deep. No water filled this Moat, but poisonous beasts beyond imagination, their hisses and snarls reaching through the darkness scaring away all travelers.

The Tower was lavish despite its single room, but Prince Olivier's curse held true. He looked around and felt nothing but contempt and profound sadness.

"From now on, I will be called Athos," he declared to the clouds, fists clenching on the single windowsill. "No woman shall reach my summit!"*

Somewhere down below, the enchantress—who was called Constance—smirked to herself and vanished.

Years passed, and the legend of Prince Athos spread, along with his very publicly announced preference of rescuer. However, as soon as the hordes of brave knights saw the terrible Moat, they immediately turned their horses around and told everyone they did not find this Tower, perhaps they'd taken a wrong turn in the Mushroom Forest? Oh well.

The first one who actually tried was a talented archer who, after seducing a Fairy Queen, was given a curse of his own: unless he found someone with enough fortitude to face his incredible beauty, all who looked at him would be overcome and die instantly. He had hunted alone in countless forests, covering his face and speaking only when necessary, which was not in his nature; when he heard the tale of Prince Athos, however, he finally had hope. Surely one who could not feel happiness until he found True Love could talk to him face to face?

Thus, this Archer—who was called Aramis—approached the Moat and hummed, stroking his well-groomed mustache in deep thought. Finally, he snapped his fingers and cried, "I know! I am a skilled archer; I could shoot an arrow tied to a rope across this dastardly Moat and swing my way across!"

This was what he did. His arrow hit its mark perfectly, jamming into the Tower's stone. Unfortunately, as Aramis reached a quarter of the way there, the rope snapped, and he fell into the darkness of the Moat.

The second one who tried was a renowned pirate who was looking to settle on land with his riches. He embraced life to the fullest, possessing a surprisingly generous heart. When he heard of Prince Athos' sorry tale, this pirate—who was called Porthos—felt a deep sympathy for this man's plight, and wanted to reintroduce to him the joys of the world, perhaps help him find that True Love.

He stomped across the land leading to the Moat, for his physical size matched that of his heart, leaving him with a bulking frame. Porthos did as Aramis had done, scratching at his beard in thought while he considered the Moat.

After a moment, he clapped his hands and laughed boisterously. "I 'ave the strength of thirty men! I can jump my way across!"

This was what he did; his powerful legs pushed him from the ground, propelling him high into the air and flying over the Moat. Yet, when Porthos was a quarter of the way across, he fell into the abyss. And when his gigantic body met the bottom of the Moat, he created such a stir in the ground that the Moat became another ten leagues bigger!

Prince Athos, who had watched every visitor thus far from his only window, sighed mournfully. The years of isolation, with only the birds to talk to, had taught him the error of his ways. Never again would he forsake True Love, which is sought by so many yet gained by so few. Yet Constance's curse held, for he still did not know what it was to  _have_ True Love, and none had reached him to even try.

No one ever will, he thought.

Thus, Athos resolved to grow out his hair, and when it grew long enough, he would rip it out and fling it over the windowsill, creating a rope with which he could climb down the Tower. It was the Moat that would pose a bigger problem, with its poisonous beasts and thick darkness. So he made a plan: before escaping the Tower, Prince Athos would take the one sword hanging on the wall in his lavish little room and practice with it until he deemed himself proficient enough to fight off any threats. This he would do with a blindfold, so he could navigate the Moat's darkness and hear the beasts when they approached.

Because of Constance's curse, he could not feel any sort of pride in his plan, only know the cold logic of it. Still, he did not give it up, and stopped trimming his thick brown hair.

More time passed, until fifteen years had come and gone. The tale of Prince Athos became mere legend, and visitors stopped visiting.

Then, one day in the height of spring, a farmboy decided to take a shortcut back to his little village. As he had never taken this route before, we can imagine his great surprise upon finding the malicious Moat and towering Tower beyond the edge of the forest. Despite the apparently short distance between his home and this Tower, this farmboy—who was called D'Artagnan—had never heard the legend of Prince Athos' plight, and so when he saw the fantastical scene before him, all he could think of was the fertile land surrounding the Tower, of the terrible taxes on his village, and of how a good crop or two would save his dear father from bankruptcy.

D'Artagnan instantly dismounted and approached the edge of the Moat. He had no beard to speak of, so he only crossed his arms while he thought of possible ways to cross this impossible distance. While others would normally take at least three days to come up with a solution that worked, D'Artagnan was a stubborn farmboy, and so paced slowly along the edge of the Moat until the sun began to set.

At last, he smacked his forehead and cried, "How stupid am I! The answer is obvious!"

To his surprise, a voice called, "Who goes there?"

The sky was clear, so D'Artagnan could peer up to the very top of the Tower without difficulty. There, he saw a handsome man with a thick beard and the longest hair he'd ever seen. Yet it was his bright blue eyes, so stark against his dark mane, that instantly enchanted this stubborn farmboy. D'Artagnan fell in love right then and there.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he replied, "My name is D'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony! I was just passing through, when I saw your strange Tower! Do you need help?"

"No!" snapped the gorgeous apparition, "Begone with you!"

Now, D'Artagnan  _had_ fallen in love, but he was also quite temperamental. A glare morphed his boyish face at Prince Athos' slight.

"I will go nowhere!" he snapped back, "In fact, I am not only going to cross this Moat, I will climb that Tower as well! What say you to that?"

"I say you're a fool, D'Artagnan of Lupiac!" the prisoner growled, "I say you will get yourself killed before you cross that Moat!"

D'Artagnan gave his beloved a defiant smirk. "May I inquire the name of the one I'm going to save?"

"You will save no one!" and the beautiful man disappeared from the window.

His resolve doubly assured, D'Artagnan disappeared as well, though his destination was his horse.

"I will return!" he yelled over his shoulder, and galloped home.

The next morning, as dawn barely touched the trees, the stubborn farmboy returned just in time to see the object of his ardent affections measuring his voluminous hair against the height of the Tower. It almost reached the bottom! Goodness, how that hair must take up space!

D'Artagnan did not let on that he had seen the hair and hefted his father's ax over his shoulder. He had work to do.

After growing up near this forest, D'Artagnan knew it inside and out; he knew where the shortest trees spurt from the ground, and where the tallest stood proud. Leading two horses near the heart of the forest, he came upon the cluster he was looking for. These trees were at least twenty leagues high, venerable beauties that only a stubborn farmboy like D'Artagnan could find within himself to cut down.

While Prince Athos practiced his blindfolded sword work, D'Artagnan spent the better part of the day chopping down one of the trees. By nightfall, the stubborn farmboy was almost there, but he was sweating like a hog and could hardly see straight.

However, he clenched his calloused hands around his ax and said to the tree, "I will not stop until you fall!"

Towards the middle of the night, Prince Athos was startled by a mighty  _CRASH_ from the forest. "What is that stupid farmboy up to?" he muttered.

D'Artagnan hitched the two horses to the tree with a shout of delight. By the next spark of dawn, the horses had successfully dragged the tree towards the edge of the Moat.

"What say you  _now_ , Monsieur?" he shouted up to the Tower.

But Prince Athos did not bother to look, only repeating, "Begone with you!" and nothing more.

D'Artagnan huffed to himself, "Fine! I look forward to seeing his face when I get to his Tower. For now, I need to rest and think of how I'm going to get my bridge across this Moat."

He slept on the grass, waking to the mid-afternoon sunshine. No ideas came to his head as he patted the horses and told them to head home, nor did anything strike him as he dangled his legs over the edge.

"If only I had the strength of thirty men," he mused, "then I could just push the tree across."

Suddenly, a booming voice burst from below, "Hello, up there! Do those legs belong to a generous man?"

D'Artagnan scrambled back from the edge. He laid flat on his stomach and peered down into the impenetrable darkness.

"Is someone down there?" he called back, his voice echoing off the Moat's walls.

"Two someones, actually!" cried another voice, "Are you by any chance in possession of a very, very long rope?"

"My apologies, Messieurs! I only have an ax and two knives!"

"Those knives'll work! Much obliged, Monsieur...?"

"D'Artagnan!" the stubborn farmboy replied, before rushing over to his saddlebags and withdrawing his two knives. "Alright, here goes!" and he dropped them into the blackness, for he was also as good as he was stubborn.

About an hour passed before two shapes emerged from the Moat's pit: one giant of a man with dark skin and fancy leathers digging the knives into the dirt for handholds, and another of exceptional beauty clinging to his back.

Cautiously, the latter looked up at D'Artagnan. When the young man only stared back, a lovely grin lit up his alluring dark eyes—if D'Artagnan had not already fallen for the man in the Tower, he may have done so for this one.

"Oh, Porthos, you truly have cured me!" the man cheered, snuggling into the giant man's neck.

"Cured you?" D'Artagnan asked as the two reached the top.

"Oh yes," said the happy man, "I was cursed to be the death of any who looked on my face until I found the one with enough fortitude to gaze upon me. Porthos' heart is as big as himself; he tore my hood away and now I'm free!"

D'Artagnan found himself in an abrupt embrace. "Well," he choked, "congratulations."

The one who was called Porthos chuckled at his companion's antics. "I'm Porthos, by the way, and this is Aramis," he told D'Artagnan, "We owe you a debt of gratitude. Whatever we can do for you, just name it."

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to say that no thanks were needed, but then he truly saw the sheer size of Porthos and reconsidered.

"A man like you must have the strength of many," he said slowly.

Porthos looked at the tree. A mischievous smile crossed his face. "A bridge," he laughed, "why didn't we think 'a that?" he asked Aramis, who was also lamenting their stupidity. To D'Artagnan, he rolled up his sleeves and promised, "I'll move your tree for yah! The prince'll never know what hit 'im!"

D'Artagnan started. "Prince?" he exclaimed, "That man up there is a prince?"

Aramis' eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Do you mean to say you came here not knowing the story?"

When D'Artagnan confessed he did not, Porthos and Aramis told the tale of Prince Athos' curse of melancholy, as well as his imprisonment, under the famous sorceress Constance. D'Artagnan's love only grew as the tale progressed, until his heart was so full he felt it should burst if he did not have Prince Athos once again safe on the ground.

As soon as the story was told, he impatiently goaded Porthos to push the tree across the Moat.

Porthos smiled again, this time as an indulgent older brother would to his younger, and obligingly positioned himself at the end of the tree. With one mighty  _shove_ , the tree was across!

"Absolutely amazing," Aramis sighed, "you are absolutely amazing, Porthos!" and he grabbed his new love into a kiss.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and climbed up onto the tree. "I'm on my way, Prince!" he yelled.

Once again, he was met with, "Begone with you!"

"He sounds lovely," Aramis muttered, following D'Artagnan. Porthos jumped up after him.

While they carefully made their way across, D'Artagnan was struck with a thought.

"Wait," he said, "if this Moat had poisonous beasts at the bottom, shouldn't you both be dead?"

Aramis shrugged, instantly regretting it as he was forced to regain his balance. "My curse became a blessing when I hit the bottom. Some of the beasts broke my fall, and the instant any of them looked upon me, well—I had them all dead at my feet in a matter of minutes. Porthos fell down beside me not long after that. At least I  _think_ it wasn't long...what year is it?" D'Artagnan told him, and he made a shocked noise. "Never mind, it was a dreadfully long time! It seemed to pass so quickly down there." the archer shuddered.

Porthos saw his love's discomfort and turned the conversation. "Wonder what this Prince Athos looks like."

"I've seen him," interjected an eager D'Artagnan, "only once, but I felt I've never been the same since. His hair is almost as long as the Tower is tall, as brown as the earth, and his eyes are bluer than the summer sky."

"Oh my," smirked Aramis, "Cupid struck well and true with you, didn't he?"

The stubborn farmboy felt his cheeks heat. "Shut up!"

Our three, ah, "heroes" continued the rest of their journey in silence, at last coming to the Tower as the sun set. Together they resolved to wait until daybreak—rather, Aramis and Porthos decided and forced D'Artagnan to comply—and made camp just near the foot of the Tower. Aramis and Porthos were more than happy to eat some of D'Artagnan's bread and cheese after having only the meat of the Moat's beasts for so long.

While the couple held each other and whispered about the beauty of the stars, D'Artagnan fell into a restless sleep staring at the top of the Tower.

At last, the sun rose, and with it D'Artagnan and his new friends. They backed away from their camp, that they could see the small window of the prince's prison.

D'Artagnan was never one for titles, so he again cupped his hands and shouted, "Athos! Athos! Let down your hair!"

"His _what_?" asked Porthos and Aramis.

"My  _what_?" thundered Prince Athos.

To his friends, D'Artagnan said, "I told you that his hair is almost as long as the Tower is tall. I saw him letting it down the other day. We could climb up, cut off his hair, and get him down!"

"Alright," said Aramis slowly, and Porthos finished, "but how do we get 'im to say yes to all that?"

"Why would he say no? As you said, he's been locked up there an awfully long time." And once more, D'Artagnan cupped his mouth and shouted, "Athos—!"

Prince Athos, however, shoved his head out of the window and glared harshly down at the trio. "I commend you for making it this far," he allowed, "but I am not going to be rescued by some stupid farmboy and his friends! Now I say again: begone with you!"

D'Artagnan gawked. Porthos and Aramis squawked. Prince Athos balked.

"I..." the prince scratched at his windowsill, new marks joining countless older ones. "My apologies. My curse doesn't allow me to feel hope, so I instinctively thought you were lying about rescuing me. I'd planned to do it myself, that's why I..." and here he gestured to his hair.

"Will you let us up, then?" asked D'Artagnan, heart pounding at the mere thought.

"You, farmboy—D'Artagnan," Prince Athos hastily corrected himself, "if you're the lightest, you can pull yourself up. You'll need help, I'm afraid—it's not long enough yet."

"Oh that's alright!" cried D'Artagnan, "Porthos could probably lift me with one hand!"

Aramis purred, "That he can."

Porthos bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. He could, and he did. Meanwhile, Prince Athos gathered up his hair and let it tumble down the Tower. With both Porthos and Aramis' help, D'Artagnan was able to grab hold of the sturdy locks and begin his climb.

Prince Athos hissed and grunted in pain, so every time D'Artagnan pulled, the farmboy called up, "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

Needless to say, the archer and his pirate quickly dissolved into fits of childish giggling. Prince Athos' glare set them to rights.

When the sun rose above the trees, D'Artagnan at last hoisted himself up and over the windowsill, Athos backing up to allow him entrance. The stubborn farmboy collapsed quite unceremoniously on the floor of the lavish Tower room with a loud  _oof!_ that rose an unimpressed eyebrow from the prince.

D'Artagnan quickly stood and dusted himself off; when he finally looked up, however, his embarrassment faded into the expression of a man utterly besotted. For indeed, there stood the one he'd fallen in love with, just out of arm's reach, and he looked even more handsome face to face.

"Hello," was all he could think to say.

Prince Athos had long forgotten what amusement felt like, but he knew he might have felt it now, instead of the curse's empty irritation. Still, he kept his voice mild; this youth planned to rescue him, after all.

So he quietly responded, "Hello. Shall we get on with it, then?"

He moved towards the window, but D'Artagnan jumped in his way.

"Wait!" said the farmboy, "Can't we talk first?"

Prince Athos looked at him as if he'd grown another head. (Not uncommon in this world of magic, but such afflictions tend to take time.) "I'd rather get out of this Tower, D'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan's heart fluttered; when he wasn't shouting, Prince Athos' voice was magnificent. "Yes, of course, I understand that, but I—well, I thought that—"

The prince scowled at him. "That what? That I'd feel so grateful for your help, I'd swoon in your arms and beg you for a kiss?" his frown deepened when he saw D'Artagnan's indignant blush. "God help us all—you keep forgetting:  _I can't feel positive emotions_."

D'Artagnan peered up at him through his eyelashes. "I didn't hear a 'no' in there."

Prince Athos pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He was about to tell the stubborn farmboy no, that's not how this was going to go, yet—it  _had_ been nearly fifteen years since his last kiss (or somewhere thereabouts, as you can imagine he'd failed to keep track of the days), and D'Artagnan was hardly unattractive.

"...fine."

D'Artagnan looked like a puppy on his first run. Prince Athos huffed and yanked him forward by the hair.

And then, something strange happened. Something magical.

Prince Athos felt  _joy_.

The emotion was so sudden, so intense, that it overwhelmed the prince and sent him weeping. D'Artagnan pulled back, surprised and concerned, only to hear Athos laugh.

"What happened?" D'Artagnan demanded, "Is—" then his eyes widened; his fingers brushed over his lips. "Did I—?"

Athos responded by kissing him again, just to remember how it felt. He had True Love again, and he would cherish it.

 

In the neighboring kingdom, Constance suddenly shouted a triumphant, "HA!"

Queen Anne started in her seat; they were in the library, and she had been absorbed in a book. "What on Earth are you doing, dear?"

Constance tapped the crystal ball in her lap. "It's what I've  _done_ , my heart."

"And what have you done?"

Constance bounded over and gave her wife a long kiss.

"A brilliant job, my sweet," she murmured into Anne's lips, "a damn brilliant job."

And they all lived Happily Ever After.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> *"Athos," as Tom Burke pointed out, is a mountain in Greece where no women were allowed.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
